More Than Revenge
by the-snitch-is-loose
Summary: Sirius Black goes back in time to prevent Snape from overhearing the prophesy, giving Harry the childhood he deserves. But then the boy becomes a man all hell breaks loose. How can Harry Potter hope to defeat Lord Voldemort without the spark of revenge to get him going? Rated M for language. AU fic. Pairings: Hinny, Romione, with a dash of Remus/Tonks.
1. Chapter 1: Back in Black

_A/N: Hello my faithful readers! Here's my newest story, and I should warn you that it isn't like the others that I've been posting, which have been distinctly humorous and fluffy. However, I really hope that you'll give this one a chance, because I quite enjoyed writing something a little different. _

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry's fabulous world or anything in it.**

PROLOGUE

_Inhale._

_He had to do it, this was the only way. The only way to get revenge. The only way to end the war, to stop the ceaseless killings. How ironic, that murder would be the weapon to end the murders . . ._

_He was running out of time. Soon, his enemy would realize what was going on, would turn and see him standing there with his wand raised. Now was his chance, his only chance, to end this once and for all . . . _

_He was filled with a sense of power. It felt so good to be in control, to know that victory was in sight at last. He had been hunting his enemy for such a very long time. It had come down to this moment . . ._

_He smiled to himself._

_Exhale._

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

CHAPTER ONE: BACK IN BLACK

Sirius Black's mind was racing.

This was it . . . The dementors were coming to Kiss him . . . any minute now, he'd be a soulless, mindless shell of a man, incapable of all thought and emotion. And for a murder he hadn't gotten the pleasure of committing yet! Pettigrew . . . Where had Pettigrew escaped to? He deserved to suffer, after all he'd put Harry through . . . _Harry_.

"It's — not — FAIR!" Sirius yelled at no one in particular. He tried to stand, but the heavy manacles securing him to the walls of Flitwick's office prevented him from doing so. Frustrated, alone, and (though he told himself otherwise countless times) scared, Sirius hung his head. All hope was lost.

At that moment, the door to the office let out a metallic _click_ and swung slowly open. Sirius stared, utterly bewildered, as Albus Dumbledore stepped inside, his typical calm demeanor jarring Sirius's overhyped senses.

"Dumbledore!" exclaimed Sirius. "I—"

"I am sorry, Sirius, but you must have a little patience with me; for the time being, keep quiet. I have a lot to say and not a lot of time to—"

"But I'm innocent! You can't let them—"

"Sirius! Please, I asked you to keep quiet." When Sirius showed no sign of disobeying the Headmaster a second time, Dumbledore continued, "Now, I have a lot of important information for you, so pay attention.

"Do you know why Voldemort targeted the Potters all those years ago, Sirius? Do you know why he wanted so _desperately_ to kill them? No? I am not surprised . . . There are very few people who know this, and I am willing to say that I believe Voldemort and I may be the only ones. I have not even told Harry yet what I am about to tell you."

Sirius looked confused. "But surely Harry—"

"He will know when he is old enough to know," said Dumbledore vaguely. "For now, concentrate on the fact that I am telling _you_.

"The reason that Voldemort wanted to kill Harry so badly was because he believed a certain prophesy, told to me just days before he was born, which said that someone (it didn't say who exactly, but the description matched Harry's situation and Voldemort knew it) would be his downfall. In an attempt to prevent the prophesy from ever coming true, Voldemort tried to nip the problem in the bud, before it became a real threat. He tried to kill baby Harry."

"But it didn't work."

"You are quite right," said Dumbledore with a small smile. "It didn't work."

"Why are you telling me all this?" asked Sirius.

"I have a feeling, call it a hunch if you'd like, that Lord Voldemort will return. Soon." Dumbledore replied. "This time, he will not only be trying to prevent the prophesy from being fulfilled, he is also out for revenge. That makes him even more dangerous."

"So . . . you want me to protect Harry? How can I do that if I haven't got a soul?" Sirius tried his best to sound casual, but his voice cracked at the thought of the Dementor's Kiss he was soon to receive.

Dumbledore, for some reason, merely smiled. "Don't worry about that. Your godson is growing up to become the most caring person I have ever met, he will not let you be wrongfully punished."

Now it was Sirius's turn to smile. "I've seen a bit of that side of him already, actually." he said, remembering Harry's plea for Sirius to show Wormtail some undeserved mercy. Perhaps he was less like James and more like Lily than he had originally thought . . . Sirius didn't understand exactly how a thirteen year old kid was going to save him, even if it was Harry, but he knew that Dumbledore wouldn't elaborate, so he decided to change the subject. "Could I ask one more question, Albus?"

"Of course."

"How did Voldemort even hear the prophesy? I had an uncle who worked in the Department of Mysteries, and he says that no one but the Unspeakables has been in the Hall of Prophesy for a thousand years. People don't even think such a place exists."

Dumbledore's face suddenly grew sad. "I wish that you hadn't asked that, Sirius. But if you insist on knowing, I will tell you."

"Tell me . . . please."

Dumbledore sighed tiredly. He didn't immediately reply, but when he did, his voice was heavy. "Professor Snape made a very grave mistake, Sirius. You must understand that Severus did not fully comprehend the ramifications of what—"

"What has Snivellus got to do with this?!"

"Everything." Dumbledore replied, still sounding impossibly sad. "You see, Severus overheard the prophesy being told and, believing he was serving his master well, reported to Lord Voldemort. He was young and foolish and hadn't heard the whole thing—"

"He WHAT?!" Sirius yelled. "He betrayed them? He killed James . . . It was Snape, all along, not Pettigrew! _Snape_ sent Voldemort after them – That slimy bastard!"

"Sirius, that's not how—"

"WHY WOULD YOU KEEP THIS FROM ME?" Sirius screamed. "WHY WOULD YOU KEEP IT FROM _HARRY_?"

"It's in the past, Sirius, there's nothing you can do about it now. What you _can_ do however, is make sure their son stays alive. Protect him."

"I said I'd do that, and I will," said Sirius, still breathing hard. "But first I'm going to kill Snape."

"Sirius Black," Dumbledore's voice was sharp for the first time that night. "Don't you _dare_ jeopardize your godson's well-being for revenge! How do you think James would feel about his best friend letting his son get hurt because the former was being naïve?"

"Yeah, well thanks to Snape, I can't know what James would've thought, because he's dead." Sirius said bitterly, fighting back tears.

"But there's nothing you can do about that now, Sirius," Dumbledore responded, his face growing ever more tired. "Please, forget about Severus for now. For Harry's sake. You agree that he's more important?"

Sirius looked indignant. "Of course! How could I ever—"

"That's not what your current actions would suggest," said Dumbledore, looking seriously over the top of his half-moon spectacles, his brilliant blue eyes piercing Sirius's soul and making him suddenly guilty. "Now, I'm leaving you. Don't do anything rash once you're free. Go into hiding immediately. I shall contact you soon for a way that you can help Harry. Good luck." And without another word, he was gone, leaving nothing but a fuming young man in his wake.

* * *

"Okay, Buckbeak, up!" his godson yelled, jerking the rope that was attached to the hippogriff's enormous leather collar. Sirius was forced to hang on to the thing nearest him (which happened to be Hermione) as the beast launched itself into the air, giving no thought to the three passengers on his back. As he was hanging onto Hermione's waist for dear life, something metal, heavy and golden, fell off of her neck and flew back into his lap. It looked like a small hourglass, covered in strange symbols, buttons, and knobs. Hogwarts castle flew by beneath them, but Sirius could only focus on this one small trinket, which apparently Hermione had not noticed leave her neck.

Seconds later, Sirius recognized what it was. _A Time-Turner._

He had heard of such devices existing, but the rumors were nothing more than that: rumors. Could this thing, such a small thing, really take him back in time? He thought of his childhood, of taunting Regulus . . . No, he couldn't go back and do that, regardless of how tempting it was. He thought of his glory days, with James at Hogwarts. They'd been kings! Kings of this magnificent, magical castle . . . He couldn't relive those days, either; not without wanting to wring Snape's neck, which would surely affect the future somehow, in ways that he would never be able to comprehend.

But maybe changing the future wasn't always a bad thing . . . If he picked the right event, it could even be a good thing . . .

What was it Dumbledore had said? _It's in the past, Sirius, there's nothing you can do about it now._ With a Time-Turner, he could actually do something about it. He could give Harry the childhood he'd always deserved . . . He could prevent Snape from ever hearing that stupid prophesy . . . He could have James back.

Sirius considered all of this in a matter of seconds. By the time he had safely stowed the Time-Turner into his jacket pocket, Buckbeak was landing on the roof of the tower. Harry was telling him to leave as quickly as he could, but Sirius didn't want to leave him. Not ever again. It was the thought of seeing him actually grow up, like a real kid this time, that finally gave Sirius the strength to leave. When it was finally time for him to get on Buckbeak and fly away over the mountains, he waved goodbye to Harry and Hermione with a genuinely light heart. It was all he could do to stop himself from crying aloud with joy at the thought of seeing James again, and so soon!

When Sirius had effectively steered Buckbeak towards a large looking cave half-hidden in the very center of a grouping of mountains, it was nearly three o'clock in the morning. But Sirius wasn't tired. Buckbeak landed at the cave's mouth, and his human passenger leapt from his back before the hippogriff's feet had completely touched the rocky ground. Sirius immediately pulled the Time-Turner from his pocket and examined it more closely.

To his great relief, Sirius discovered that the device had not one, not two, but three tiny knobs on the side; one was labeled with a miniscule "H" another with a "D", and the third with a "Y": hours, days, and years. Sirius looked at Buckbeak, who seemed sniffing around the cave, searching for a rat to eat.

"Thanks for the help, mate," Sirius said softly, stroking the hippogriffs smooth beak. "I appreciate it. You're pretty clever, you can feed yourself, right?"

When the hippogriff did not reply, but merely continued sniffing around the cave floor, Sirius patted him once on the flank and left the cave, clutching the Time-Turner to his chest protectively.

Once outside in the open air, standing on a ledge that overlooked all of Hogsmeade, with Hogwarts Castle's vast outline in the distance ahead, Sirius clicked the knob that indicated "years". He took a deep breath and, thinking of James, turned the hourglass within fourteen times.

Almost immediately, the world around him began to shift and move. The sun rose with colossal speed. The village below went through each season so fast he could hardly see the changes. One second Hogsmeade was covered in white, fluffy snow, the next it was muddy, then dusty and hot, now ablaze with orange and red, and before he knew it the cycle had begun again. Tiny people came and went along the streets, children grew up before his eyes, so quickly they were impossible to follow. Hogwarts alone remained the same.

Just as suddenly as all the activity had started, it stopped.

June 6, 1980. Dumbledore had said that he'd heard the prophesy just before Harry was born . . . Would that be enough time to stop Snape?

Sirius looked behind him. Buckbeak was gone, so it must have worked. He changed into his Animagus form (it would make walking down the mountain faster and easier ) and began his descent into Hogsmeade.

* * *

Sirius waited in the Hog's Head every night for a month and a half for Dumbledore to show up with his newest Hogwarts employee. The Headmaster visited the little pub often, especially on the quieter nights, so it wasn't exactly difficult to keep track of when the time was right. Even better, he never entered with company. The only exception occurred in mid-July, when Dumbledore sat down at his usual table in the back, ordered his typical gillywater, but instead of taking out the latest installment of _Transfiguration Today__, _he sat twiddling his thumbs, as though waiting for someone. Sirius, in his heavy disguise, watched carefully as a shabby young woman joined him. She was draped in innumerable shawls, bangles, and beads, and gave the automatic impression of an enormous insect. Dumbledore stood, shook her hand, made some polite small talk, and invited her to a private parlor upstairs. _This is it_, thought Sirius excitedly. Now all he had to do was keep an eye out for Snape . . .

It was easier than Sirius thought it would be. Snape, as a boy just out of Hogwarts was not very adept at disguising himself; he obviously lacked the experience necessary to do it properly, and Sirius recognized him instantly. Maybe that could have been attributed to the fact that Sirius had glared at Snape's bat-like movements for seven years, but Sirius liked to think it was because Snape was just an idiot that he was recognized so easily.

One thing was certain: what Snape was doing was completely intentional. _Dumbledore can bleat feebly about Snape "not understanding the ramifications" or blah blah blah_, thought Sirius savagely, _but this is a guy who's here for one purpose: to find out information and use it against those I love._This thought made it very easy for Sirius to intercept the greasy young man, subtly curse him into a state of unconsciousness which, in the unusually crowded pub, could easily be mistaken for a drunken stupor, and quietly leave before anyone could ask any questions. Snape would be out like a light for hours, which gave Dumbledore plenty of time to hear the prophesy and get out, without Snape ever having heard it. Grinning to himself as he walked down Hogsmeade's High Street, Sirius inwardly congratulated himself on a job well done. Now all he had to do was go into hiding until his time-travelling self could catch up to his current self. He slung the rucksack he'd stolen from home over one shoulder, gave the outline of Hogwarts one last, fleeting look, and Disapparated on the spot. He'd find himself a nice, quiet place in Switzerland or something, anywhere far away. But he'd be back in fourteen years.

* * *

_A/N: I promise things will get more interesting from here on out. What did you think so far? Leave a review and let me know!_  
_Be on the lookout for chapter two soon... This entire story has been written in advance, so it's safe to say that I'll be updating very regularly. Every week, I'd say, unless something extremely unexpected happens. Thanks for reading! xoxo_


	2. Chapter 2: Holding Out For a Hero

_A/N: First of all, I want to address the time-traveling issues that I'm sure will come up eventually. Yes, time-travel is a tricky subject. No, I cannot possibly hope to understand how it works logistically. Therefore I urge you, my wonderful readers, to give me a little poetic license on this one. Don't think too hard about it, sit back, relax, and enjoy the show :)_

CHAPTER TWO: HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

"MUM!"

"I'm in the kitchen, hang on!"

"MUM!"

"I'm in the middle of something!"

"LILY!"

"James, didn't you hear me yelling at your son? I'm busy!"

Lily Potter sighed. Sometimes Harry and James were too similar, and not just in looks. It was a little scary. In all his letters from Hogwarts Dumbledore had always told her that her son was more like her, deep down, but she didn't truly believe it. Harry was so similar to James; both Quidditch stars, both hot-headed, and both extremely charismatic. Yet Lily Potter could also understand what Dumbledore was saying. James was never quite as modest as Harry about his Quidditch talents, nor did James truly understand Harry's need to be kind to those less fortunate than himself. Both, however, had an uncanny knack for attracting trouble. Lily smiled at the thought.

"MUM! Have you seen my broomstick?"

"Lils, I can't find the car keys! I think your stupid cat ate them again!"

Lily sighed and walked into the living room, where James was sitting on the sofa, staring down the cat with his chin on his hands, muttering curses at it. "What are you doing?" she asked sharply.

"I know she ate them. Look at the guilt in her eyes." he said without looking at his wife.

Lily rolled her eyes. "Right. Well, I'm pretty sure that's not what happened, considering that you left the keys in the refrigerator when you and Harry raided it last night," That was one other thing that Harry had in common with his father: an enormous appetite, even for a seventeen year old boy.

"What?!" James exclaimed, finally looking up at her. Lily jingled the keys tauntingly in his face and laughed. "Oh. Right. Sorry."

"MUM!"

"WHAT?" Lily finally yelled back. James jumped and covered his ears dramatically.

"I can't go to Hogwarts without my Firebolt! I'm the Captain, if I don't have a broomstick—"

"I know, I know, honey. It's in the cupboard under the stairs!"

Reveling in this new information, Harry sprinted down the stairs, taking them three at a time. He wrenched open the cupboard door and let out a sigh of relief. There was his Firebolt, safe and sound and surrounded by the usual jumble of rusty cauldrons, old spellbooks, and a number of broken quills.

"What would I do without you?" he said cheerfully, kissing his mother on the cheek.

James coughed something that sounded an awful lot like "suck-up", but Lily paid no attention.

"Have you got everything packed?"

"Mum, we're already late, now's really not the time to—"

"Shut up and humor me, will you?" Her emerald eyes, exactly like her son's, blazed suddenly and Harry closed his mouth meekly. "Right. Books?"

"Yes."

"Money for Hogsmeade trips?"

"Got it."

"Spare parchment?"

"Plenty."

"Spare underwear?"

"Muuum!"

"I'm just making sure!"

"I'm seventeen years old, I think I know to pack myself underwear!"

"Well, there was that one time when—"

"I was a first year then, Mum! It's been seven years!"

James laughed and said knowingly, "C'mon, Lils, he's a man now! Or at least pretty damn close. We have to treat him like one!" Harry grinned at his father, until James continued, "Now, Harry, do you have that book I gave you on your seventeenth? That one about—"

"_Yes I have it_," said Harry through gritted teeth, his face turning bright red suddenly. "Now shut up, you're worse than Mum!"

"What book?" said Lily, her eyes narrowing. Now it was James's turn to go red. Clearly he hadn't thought this through extensively.

"Oh! Erm, you know, Lils . . . the book."

"This wouldn't be the same book that you showed me our seventh year, would it? The one you were reading just before we—"

"Oh, Merlin. Please stop. Right now." said Harry, eyes wide and terrified.

James shifted nervously from foot to foot as he said, "Yeah. Yeah that's the one."

"Why would he need that book, James?"

"Oh, c'mon, Lils, he's seventeen! He's of age! We were seventeen when we—"

"Don't!" yelled Harry, shoving his fingers in his ears. "No details!"

"You can't compare us to him, James! Ginny is only sixteen, and—"

"—and they're both fully capable of making their own decisions! Ginny isn't stupid, neither is Harry!"

"I didn't say that they were! I just don't think it's necessary to facilitate—"

"It's 10:40! We need to go or we're going to miss the train!" Harry yelled suddenly. James looked at his watch and swore under his breath.

"We'll be fine if we Apparate . . ." he said, looking sheepishly at Lily.

"Apparition is dangerous, I'd rather not have you two risk it, James," his wife replied. "Harry's only just passed his test, getting Splinched right before the first day of school wouldn't exactly start the year off right."

"We can always Side-Along it," said James.

"Aw, man!"

"Don't you start, young man. You'll have plenty of time to Apparate when you're older. Now, have you brought your trunk down yet? And Erasmus?"

"His name's not Erasmus, Mum. It's Egbert."

"Right. Sorry, dear, I just think Egbert is a silly name for an owl . . ."

"Of course it's silly!" Harry replied. "I named him when I was about nine!"

"It doesn't matter," James interrupted. "Go get your trunk and stuff." Harry nodded and sprinted upstairs .James grinned at Lily. "He takes after you, you know."

"Yeah right. After all the Quidditch Finals Gryffindor has won in the last six years? I don't think so."

"I wasn't talking about Quidditch and you know it." James kissed his wife, quickly but passionately. "We both know you're rubbish on a broom. He's got your . . . spunk."

"Well, huzzah for spunk. But unfortunately spunk isn't helping me deal with this."

"With what?"

Lily looked up at him and raised one patronizing eyebrow. "You're kidding me, right?" When James only looked more confused, she collapsed onto the sofa behind her, put her face in her hands, and started to cry. Bewildered, James sat down next to her and pulled her into a hug. He had no idea what was going on, but he supposed it didn't really matter as long as she knew he was there for her.

"What is it, Lils? What's wrong?"

"It's – it's his l-l-last year, James!" she sputtered through her tears. "He's all grown up, now! Our son. Our little Harry."

James tried (and failed) to keep the laughter out of his voice as he said, "Didn't you realize any of this at his birthday party? Or when Sirius sat him down for 'the talk'? Or when Moony gave him a razor for Christmas?"

"Of course I did! But he'll be graduating from Hogwarts in less than a year. He's . . . a man!"

"Not quite a man. Not yet. He's still got a lot of learning to do. But it's nothing we can teach him, not anymore." James conjured a hankie from the end of his wand and handed it to her. She laughed softly as she saw how dirty it was, then handed it back to him. James, looking sheepish, promptly cleaned it up a little with a simple charm before giving it back to her. At that moment, Harry could be heard making his way slowly down the stairs.

James stood and walked over to the foot of the staircase, peering around the banisters so that he could watch his son's progress. Harry was trying desperately to drag his heavy trunk down the stairs, while at the same time keeping a tight grip on Egbert's cage, as well as his Firebolt. James smirked, but didn't move from his spot at the foot of the stairs. When Harry was officially stuck, he called up, "How's it going, kiddo?"

Shaking sweat and his long, black hair out of his eyes, Harry glared down at his father, who leaned so nonchalantly against the wall below that it was almost criminal. "How do you do this every year?" he panted.

"Magic." James replied, laughing. He raised his wand and lifted trunk, owl, and broomstick with a Hover Charm, depositing them easily at the foot of the stairs.

Harry couldn't help but laugh at himself. "Oh. Right. I can do magic outside of school, now, can't I?" James nodded, still grinning.

"I'll go ahead and put these in the bag. Go say goodbye to your mother." James was referring to the rucksack that Lily had found in a thrift store years ago that had been officially deemed "the bag". James had placed an Undetectable Extension Charm on it so that it could carry just about anything they needed it to, including Harry's school things. It was quite simple to Apparate to King's Cross, load the stuff onto a cart from there, and then cross into the platform. Just as long as they were secretive about it so the Muggles didn't notice.

Harry entered the living room, where his mother was still wiping her eyes hurriedly on the edge of her blouse. "Oh, Mum." said Harry, wrapping his arms around her.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" she choked unconvincingly. "Have a good time, honey. Study hard, the N.E.W.T.s come faster than you'd think, have Hermione help you if you need it. Dad and I will both be at Gryffindor's first match, don't worry. Sirius and Remus, too, if they can manage it. Be good, be safe!"

"I will, Mum." he said quietly, hugging her tighter. He knew that she was struggling with letting him go, though he didn't completely understand it. How could he possibly understand, not being a parent yet himself?

"All right. I love you."

"I love you too, Mum."

"10:55 . . . Come on, Harry! You're going to miss the train!"

"No, I'm not Dad! We've got time!"

"Not much!"

Harry rolled his eyes as he pushed the cart closer to the wall that separated platforms nine and ten. James noticed the eye-roll, but didn't do anything except purse his lips more tightly. He'd hit the nail on the head earlier when he'd talked to Lily about their son; he definitely had a lot of growing up to do. As father and son entered the platform, James said his goodbyes.

"Have a good term —we'll see you at Christmas at the latest. Earlier if you see us after the first match. Say hello to Ron and Hermione for us. Take Ginny somewhere nice for the first Hogsmeade weekend. She deserves it, after putting up with you for over a year now." James ruffled his son's already untidy hair affectionately.

"Thanks, Dad." Harry said sarcastically.

James winked. "My pleasure. Speaking of Ginny . . . "James leaned in and said in a whisper that Harry could barely hear over the sounds of the train, "That book. Read it. It's a lifesaver, I'm telling you, no matter what your mother thinks."

Harry grinned. "I was planning on it."

James wrapped his son in his arms one more time, as if trying to squeeze into him all the advice, love, and stern reprimands that he could before saying goodbye. He hoped that Harry got the message. Just in case he hadn't, James said, "You know the drill: Never back down. Stand up for those that you love. Chin up. Be proud. Earn respect, don't demand it. And keep your eyes on that snitch!"

"Thanks, Dad." Harry said sincerely.

Albus Dumbledore paced the Headmasters' office worriedly. This was it, Harry's last year. All the information that he had been hoarding for far too long had to come out now, he'd waited long enough. Excuses, always excuses. First Harry was too young, then the timing wasn't right, then he couldn't think of anything to start with. This year, though, no excuse was good enough. This was it.

He'd have to do it immediately, so as to give the poor boy some time to prepare himself for what lay ahead. Ideally, Harry would already be on that path, but rather than expose him to it earlier, Dumbledore had let him grow up happy and carefree, under James and Lily's protection and guidance. Yes, he had to do it as soon as possible. Perhaps even as soon as Harry had stepped off the train . . .?

On the other hand, what was the rush? For all he knew, Sirius's little trick hadn't been a bad thing at all. For all he knew, an innocent child had been saved from a life of suffering and despair. After all, it wasn't like Voldemort _knew_ that Harry was destined to be his downfall, at least not yet. Why rush such a sad process as the one that Dumbledore was well aware would have to be set in motion, in order for the plan to succeed? But no. The Headmaster stopped those thoughts before they could get out of hand. What was he thinking? The "boy" was seventeen, after all. He'd had his childhood, and it had been a good one. Of course he was young, but the acts that needed to be performed had to be done by someone young and brave, not cautious and old like himself, or another Order member.

Besides, it had to be Harry. He was special, even if he didn't know it, and even if Voldemort didn't know it.

He had to tell him. Tonight.

"Mr. Potter! Potter! Over here, if you please!"

Harry, who had been being swept along by the massive tide of Hogwarts students surrounding him, was suddenly forced to fight the current in order to see Professor McGonagall, who was waving him over to one of the side doors in the Entrance Hall. He looked at Ginny, who was still holding his hand, and shrugged. She shrugged back, then let go. "See you later!" she called to him over the din.

"Bye!" Harry replied. He tried to follow her with his eyes, even just for a few moments, but even her distinctly flaming hair was swallowed up in the sea of other heads too quickly for him to catch. He waved goodbye to Ron and Hermione, then turned to face McGonagall again, who held open the chamber door for him.

"Evening, Professor." Harry said as he passed her.

"Hello, Potter. Have a seat, please. The Headmaster will see you shortly, but I'm afraid I must leave you now to orchestrate the Sorting Ceremony. Help yourself to a sandwich, if you'd like. Professor Dumbledore will be with you as soon as he's finished welcoming everyone to the feast." said McGonagall briskly. With one, fluid swooping motion, she left the room.

Completely confused, Harry sat down in the solitary chintz armchair that had been left, apparently for him, in front of a small desk. On the desk was a plate of sandwiches, accompanied by a jug of pumpkin juice. Suddenly ravenous, Harry helped himself as he considered his situation.

What was this about? How could he have possibly managed to get himself into trouble before the term had even started? Even for his father (who, as evidence within the school pointed out, was no amateur when it came to troublemaking) this would be a new record. Thinking back to the train ride, Harry tried to remember if there was anything he'd done wrong. Sure, he'd snogged Ginny senseless, but surely that wouldn't earn him a trip to the Headmaster? And especially considering they'd been alone in the luggage compartment at the time? That couldn't have been it.

Perhaps it was just a friendly visit, then? Everyone knew that Dumbledore had a special soft spot in his heart for the Potters, though no one quite knew why. Harry himself had been taking private dueling lessons with Dumbledore for the last seven years. But why would Dumbledore want to remove Harry from the Welcoming Feast and place him in this tiny room all by himself if it wasn't a punishment? Harry's head was starting to hurt. He decided to stop dwelling on what might be going on, because there was no way of knowing whether or not he was right. Instead, he concentrated on eating the sandwiches.

It was a full fifteen minutes before the room's single door opened again, this time to admit Dumbledore himself. Harry, who'd finished eating already, stood to shake the Headmaster's hand as he stepped inside.

"Evening, sir. Did you have a good holiday?"

"I did, thank you. And yourself?"

Harry smiled. "Absolutely." When _didn't_ he have a good summer holiday? He liked Hogwarts, obviously, but during the summer was when the fun really began. He spent his days flying his Firebolt around the country side with his father, being crushed at wizard's chess by his mother, swimming in Godric's Hollow's solitary pond, helping Sirius tune up his motorbike, taking Ginny to Florean Fortescue's (and occasionally a more solitary spot) on Saturdays, being taught to duel by Remus, and applying himself to various shenanigans with Ron and Hermione. Summer was the best time of the year, no question.

"Glad to hear it." Dumbledore said, also smiling. With a wave of his wand, Harry's dinner cleared itself away. Then another chintz armchair appeared and Dumbledore sat down. "Now, you must surely be wondering why I would single you out from the feast, and you should know that it is for nothing you've done wrong."

Inwardly, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. _Then what was going on_? "Right." was all he said.

"I have some extremely vital information for you, Harry. I only ask that you have a little bit of patience as I tell it to you, for it is of a . . . surprising nature, I suppose you could say.

"Harry, what do you know about Lord Voldemort?"

Involuntarily, Harry winced. Of course he knew that Dumbledore said the name, everyone associated with the Order knew that, but that didn't mean he was comfortable with it. "Er . . . not a lot." Harry confessed.

"What do you know?"

"I know that he started gaining power almost thirty years ago. I know he's killed people, a lot of people, because he and his followers want to create a race of pure-bloods. And that's about it." Harry hung his head. He had never been one for keeping up with current events. Sure, his parents were in the Order of the Phoenix (and soon he would be too), but that didn't mean they would tell him anything about who they were fighting. For a kid whose mother and father were key members of a secret organization to bring down the current tyrant, Harry was remarkably sheltered.

Dumbledore nodded. "That's quite a lot. More than the average Hogwarts student, I think. The reason that Lord Voldemort— Harry, you must get used to hearing the name— is so unknown is because he does not operate through open attack. He is taking his time, waiting for the exact moment to take over completely, and even when he does that, it will not be obvious at first. He is a clever man, but still just a man. And that's why I must speak to you, Harry."

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't understand."

"I am saying that Voldemort isn't making himself openly known, so we will have to track him down." The Headmaster's blue eyes were bright with excitement, but his voice remained calm as ever. "I am saying that just because he is biding his time, waiting for the right moment, does not mean that he has everything figured out yet. I am saying that Voldemort can be beaten, Harry, and you must be the one to do it."

Harry sat there in shocked silence for about three seconds, then laughed.

Dumbledore frowned. "This is not a joke, Harry."

"Me? Kill _You-Know-Who_? If that's not a joke then I'm a niffler."

"I can assure you, Harry, you are the one who must do it."

"But—" Then he realized that Dumbledore was serious. Harry stood from his chair, pacing in circles around it and running his hands through his black hair. "No. I can't possibly—I'm not even out of school yet! I have homework, and Quidditch, and my girlfriend, and all sorts of other teenage stuff! How am I supposed to do all that, and somehow also kill the Darkest wizard of all time?"

"I did not say it would be easy, but it has got to be you."

"Why?" Harry demanded, in a voice harsher than he intended.

"Because you're young and brave—"

"—which really means ignorant and reckless—"

"—and because you have the purest heart."

Harry narrowed his eyes. Did Dumbledore really think he was that stupid? "Listen, I may be only seventeen, but I can tell when someone is bullshitting me, all right? Don't try and tell me that I'm special or something just because you don't want to get your hands dirty and you need someone who will blindly follow orders thanks to some careful flattery!"

"That's not what I meant at all, Harry, and you know it." Dumbledore said, just as calmly as ever. "You _are_ special. More special than even your parents realize. You, unlike so many of our best Order members, possess some of the rarest qualities a person can have; the qualities necessary to lead without overtaking, to be a victor without victims, to stand tall without standing on someone else. You possess the qualities necessary, in short, to be a hero."

Shocked, Harry collapsed back into his chintz armchair. Dumbledore had completely lost it, that much was clear. Him? A _hero_? Sure, he did all right on the Quidditch pitch and he'd give a lost first-year directions if they needed it, but saying he could be a hero was going a bit too far. "You're mad." he whispered. "Insane. I'm Harry. Just Harry. Nothing more and nothing less. More importantly, I'm _happy_ the way I am now, I don't _want_ to be a — a hero."

Dumbledore smiled sadly, which only infuriated Harry more. "Which is, I am sorry to say, another heroic trait of yours. But unfortunately, Harry, what you want is not exactly the most important thing. Deep down, you know this to be true."

Harry groaned. Dumbledore was right, for once; he knew that what he wanted didn't really matter. But that didn't mean he liked the idea.

"I—can't—kill—_anyone_, Professor!" Harry spat through gritted teeth. "I have a hard time poisoning the Doxies that live in our curtains! I don't even like killing spiders!"

"If anyone liked killing we wouldn't be able to call them human," Dumbledore replied softly. "but just because you don't like it doesn't mean it does not need to be done."

Harry stood from his chair once more and prepared to leave, even though he hadn't been dismissed. "Sorry, sir, but I'm definitely not your man. You'll have to find someone else."

Without another word, Harry stormed out of the room.

_A/N: Questions? Comments? Concerns? Leave a review!_


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